in my veins
by laurencgermans
Summary: After graduation Quinn Fabray's friends and family waved her off to a new life at Yale University, thankful her pink-haired, rebellious days were behind her. Well, everyone except for Rachel Berry, who always seemed to know that the girl she worshipped in all her punk rock glory would find her way back to her. Somewhat AU, Faberry, hopefully with hints of Klaine and Brittana.
1. chapter one

After graduation Quinn Fabray's friends and family waved her off to a new life at Yale University, thankful her pink-haired, rebellious days were behind her. Well, everyone except for Rachel Berry, who always seemed to know that the girl she worshipped in all her punk rock glory would find her way back to her. Somewhat AU, Faberry-centric, hopefully with hints of Klaine and Brittana.

* * *

**in my veins**

**chapter one**

Rachel Berry falls back onto her bed and sighs aloud, her hand immediately making contact with the warm skin of another person. Brody, half-asleep and unsuspecting, mumbles and slips a strong hand around her waist protectively. She tries to smile as he leans into her, his breath hot on her neck, but in her mind she's willing him to go back to sleep so that she doesn't have to pretend anymore. There are other things on her mind tonight. After a few minutes, each of which seem eternally and unbearably drawn-out, she hears the sound of her boyfriend snoring, a noise she now associates with feeling irritated and helpless. Confident that Brody is out like a light, a fact only solidified by his supine form half-drooling onto the pillowcase, Rachel slips off the queen bed and pads into the hall once again. Kurt, she reassures herself, is with Adam in Williamsburg, and Santana's putting in the late shift at the diner where she's working, so there's nothing to worry about; no prying eyes to avoid.

Entering the kitchen, Rachel pours herself a glass of water first, taking meticulous care not to spill any on the countertop and precisely counting the pieces of ice she uses - three, so as not to deprive her other housemates of such a valuable resource as frozen water - before grabbing the letter off of the marbled counter anxiously and dropping onto the couch. She folds her legs up under her and rips open the envelope, not paying attention to the postmark. She's already read the sender, and that's all that matters. Inside Rachel finds, predictably, a folded up piece of paper that when unfurled reveals the neat, almost masculine printing she recognizes dearly. The back of her throat suddenly feels like there's a rock lodged there, right above her windpipe, and she swallows it down self-consciously before beginning to read.

_Rachel,_

_Hi. Okay, I know that's a dumb introduction, but it was the only greeting I could think of that didn't make me sound too eager or too cavalier. Forgive me for my lack of English skills despite my former major (yes, former. I'll tell you about it later on in this letter)._

_Anyway, how are you? Are you loving New York like everyone knew you would, and kicking supreme musical theatre ass at NYADA? Knowing your incredible talent there's no doubt you are._

Rachel pauses to laugh softly at this, and absentmindedly notices, now that she's taken her brain off the letter for one consequential second, that she's nervously gulped down her water already. She chews on her lip cautiously and picks up where she left off.

_You're probably wondering what I'm doing writing to you after all this time, and in the spirit of full disclosure I have to say, even I'm not entirely sure what my reasoning is. I guess the most simply-put form of it would be that I just miss you. At college there was no one like you, Rachel, no matter where I looked. Trust me, I tried, but I gave up pretty quickly considering that the majority of my cohort were just imitation hipsters living off their trust funds. I guess that brings me to what I said before. I left Yale, Rach. I think I knew after the first week that pretending to be something I'm not, parading around on campus like the old days when I was a Cheerio, was like another step backward. This kinda brings me to what I've been wanting to tell you._

Rachel turns over the piece of paper in a moment of panic and blinks a few times, repeating a often-heard mantra in her head. You can do this. It feels like the turning point of a corny movie or some motivational speech by an idiot with an ill-earned doctorate about facing your fears and embracing the good, but she does it anyway. Finally, after a few seconds, the courage to read the last few perfectly handwritten sentences is born in her and she continues, not sure what to expect.

_I can't stay with my mom any longer. Lima's too small for me, like it was for you and Kurt and Santana, and pretty much all of us. Well, except for Finn. I have some money saved, and I know what I want to do with it. I'm coming to New York, Rach. I know there's like, four of you in that little apartment so don't freak out, I don't expect to stay with you or anything. I think I'll be able to make it on my own for at least a while. But, I do want to see you. Write me back and tell me if that's good with you. Better yet, call me. I'm trying my hardest, but I want to hear the sound of your voice._

_God willing, I'll see you in two weeks. Maybe when I get to New York we can have dinner._

_I miss you so much,_

_Quinn._

Rachel draws in a sharp intake of breath and lets the letter slip out of her hand and to the floor. Quinn is coming to New York, and to make matters even more complicated, there's a new man in her bed that she's not sure she even likes anymore. Everything that Brody does, nowadays, provokes in her frustration and makes her want to tear her hair out angrily. But Quinn's a different story, a book that she's not so sure she wants to reopen and try to comprehend again. She picks up the now-crumpled piece of paper off the floor, resigning herself to forgetting about it all for at least one last night, but can't pry herself away from quickly skimming through it again. Eventually Rachel notices a postscript written in smaller handwriting down the bottom in a different ink. Red this time.

_PS. I cut my hair again. I know how much you liked it._

Rachel smiles sadly at this and with once last glance folds the letter up instead of tossing it in the trash, where she had originally planned to put it. Her feelings towards Quinn returning are confusing and mixed, but one thing's for sure, she thinks to herself. There was still something there, something deep and permanent, unable to be written over by a relationship with someone new. So, with this on the forefront of her mind, Rachel creeps back to bed quietly, though she's unsure why she even cares about waking Brody. The clock reads one am, and so she settles back into the familiarity of her bed and, like clockwork, the masculine hand snakes around her again, rubbing her back all too vigorously. Rachel shrugs away from Brody's touch and he grunts softly, thankfully signalling that their exchange had been riddled with sleepiness on his part. He won't remember it in the morning, she resolves gratefully. Turning off the side lamp that sits by their bed, Rachel slowly drifts off to sleep with visions of pink and the piece of paper crumpled in the palm of her hand.


	2. chapter two

Last chapter I forgot to disclaimer, so here it is. I don't own Glee, because otherwise there would be kinky Faberry sex scenes. Duh.

* * *

**in my veins**

**chapter two**

Rachel wakes up the next morning and immediately removes herself from Brody's autonomous embrace. She's getting to the point where she's sickened by his touch even on a completely non-sexual level, a foreboding omen which soon will, probably, force her to break up with him. Avoiding the subject, she pushes this thought out of her head and pulls the elastic out of her hair before clambering out of bed and into the kitchen. Standing there is Santana Lopez, hovering over their slowly boiling kettle in pursuit of her morning espresso.

"Hey," she smiles warmly, and Rachel can't help remember the days when instead the Latina girl would greet her with a shove in the hallway or a decidedly catty remark. She grins back at Santana, the thought of their friendship lightening her mood, and grabs another mug from the shelf to get in on the coffee action.

"How was work last night?" Rachel asks, sympathetic to Santana's newfound situation. A few weeks ago the former Cheerio had packed her bags and moved from her sheltered, planned out college life in Louisiana to the concrete jungle of New York City with no plans nor job opportunities, save working nights in a packed diner in Brooklyn.

"Work is work," Santana sighs, sipping her coffee tenderly, "but it's gonna pay this month's rent. I just need to figure out what the hell my next move is," she shrugs.

Rachel sprinkles chocolate neatly onto the top of her homemade cappuccino and sits at the countertop on a barstool, facing her friend. "You'll figure it out," she assures her with an encouraging smile. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure most people from high school are in the same place that you are. Not everything always goes to plan." Santana raises an eyebrow at this and Rachel realises she's said too much.

"Who exactly are you talking about, Rach?"

Rachel's heart pounds for a second; it's like the walls are closing in on her. Then, all of a sudden, two highly comforting thoughts overwhelm her. One, there's no way that telling Santana she's heard from Quinn will provoke any real kind of suspicion, and two, contrary to past occurrences, Santana would be the last to judge. She exhales quietly in relief and replies to her roommate calmly, "Quinn sent me a letter," she explains. "I read it last night. She's leaving Yale and coming to the city."

Santana's eyes light up and Rachel relaxes. She was in the clear, and could save the surely awkward conversation for another day. "Q's coming here?" she asks excitedly, a wide grin forming on her face. "That bitch hasn't spoken to me in like, a month," she says offhandedly, her tone changing. "Anyway. That's beside the point."

"She said that college was too much for her, or something," Rachel tries to inform her friend without divulging the entire contents of Quinn's letter. "She wants to come out here for some reason. Didn't exactly say why," she muses aloud. Santana frowns at this and, mentally noting to give Quinn a call within the next few days, moves off of the topic and onto that morning's breakfast.

"Do you want cereal or eggs?" she asks Rachel, hand on her hip in impatience.

"Um," Rachel scrunches up her face, "eggs, please."

A clearly masculine voice rings out from Rachel's bedroom authoritatively, "eggs for me too, dude." Rachel rolls her eyes noticeably, a gesture that Santana can't help but spot and raise a well-manicured eyebrow at.

"What's that all about?" she questions, tearing herself away from breakfast preparations and instead, propping her head onto her hands, elbows on the countertop, in expectation. "Are you getting fed up of your man candy, Rachel?" Santana asks knowingly, a teasing smirk on her face. Rachel feels like her brain has stopped working, just for a second, and in that time she's flailing and stammering out an answer.

"N-no," she shakes her head almost too vigorously in response. Santana chuckles and returns to supervise their frying eggs, while Rachel contemplates telling her friend and roommate about the sudden repulsion she feels towards her boyfriend. Finally, when Santana is flipping the eggs onto plates with a spatula, Rachel gives in and crosses to the other side of the counter, grabbing her plate and her friend's arm with it.

"If I tell you, you can't say anything to Brody," she whispers. Santana nods and shrugs in agreement.

"It's so weird, but lately, everything about him kinda makes me sick," Rachel explains quietly, unsure even about how she feels. "Like, the sex is terrible, and when he touches me I just," she blinks as if trying to clear the memories from her mind, "it feels gross. And weird."

Santana raises an eyebrow and considers this carefully. She knows what the old Santana would have said - something along the lines of "man-hands, are you sure you like the D?" - but she's experimenting in sensitivity nowadays. "Maybe you've just been with him for too long. Like, you're at that stage in the relationship where you've seen it all, the novelty's worn off," she tries helpfully, "I was like that with Sam. And Puck, too."

Rachel nods and thanks Santana with a small smile, making sure every few seconds that Brody hasn't yet hauled his lazy ass out of bed. They eat their eggs in peace until, finally, he emerges and proceeds to whine for a solid ten minutes at Santana for 'forgetting' to cook him eggs, while the Latina girl just disregards him with an amused smirk. By the end of breakfast Rachel has her head in her hands, trying to fathom just how much longer she can put up with her boyfriend's third grade attitude towards almost everything. The odds, she thinks, are definitely not in Brody's favor.

* * *

Rachel comes home from her NYADA dance classes that night to be met with two highly interesting scenarios. The first of these, admittedly, she had predicted - there Kurt and Adam sit entwined, making out furiously on the couch. She wanders thoughtfully into the kitchen and grabs a packet of pre-cooked popcorn, tears it open and throws a piece at Kurt's head with a childish giggle. He looks up in confusion and, upon realising the culprit responsible for the sudden interruption, scowls at her affectionately and returns his attention to Adam's mouth. As Rachel moves through the apartment, the other event unfolds in front of her, this time not as expected nor as welcomed. Brody lays on the bed they share, wearing only a pair of tight black underwear and a confused expression, directed at the crumpled piece of paper he reads from. Rachel's eyes widen and all of her emotions toward her boyfriend lately feel like they're going to surface in one angry blow. "Why are you reading my mail?" she asks accusingly, arms folded across her chest.

Brody whips around, aware that he's been caught. "It was in our bed, Rachel," he says, and she thinks she can hear a hint of accusation in his tone.

"Did you read it?" she asks coldly, unable to look him directly in the eye. She's not sure if she should be mad at Brody for violating her trust and reading her personal correspondence, at herself for being so careless as to leave it lying around, or even Quinn for writing it. No, she thinks, I take that last one back.

"What does it look like?" Brody replies with a smirk, his stubbornness preventing him from answering any question like a normal adult.

"God, Brody," she walks over to him purposefully and snatches the letter angrily out of his hand. "It looks like you read my personal letter from my friend. Without asking me first." I would have said no, she thinks secretly, but that's beside the point right now.

"Hey!" he calls as Rachel bustles out of the room in search for a better hiding place for her letter. Sure, there wasn't much to it, but for some strange personal reason she's decided against disposing of it, in case of an emergency or something. She shoves it into a drawer and turns back around to find her boyfriend close to pressed up against her, a purposefully confused look on his face. "Why is it such a big deal?" Brody asks with a shrug, snaking his arm around her waist again in the most unattractive of ways.

Rachel huffs loudly and removes his arm, not giving any thought to his feelings for once. "Because it is, Brody. Because," she sighs, crossing to the other side of the room so he's not up in her personal space, "it was private and you violated my trust."

"You're my girlfriend," he reasons emphatically. "What's mine is yours, and all that shit."

Rachel raises a thin eyebrow at this; it takes all of her being not to glare at him. "I think you should go," she says it as soon as she realizes it, and something inside her is lifted away like a gigantic weight being hauled off her stomach. "I can't do this anymore."

Brody's jaw drops arrogantly and he frowns at her in disbelief. "What the fuck? I read one stupid letter and you're dumping me on my ass?"

"It's not," she shakes her head and with it, his hand off her arm, "it's not just the letter. It's a lot of things, Brody." Rachel blinks a few times and sorts out what she needs to say to him in her head. "You're not the guy I thought you were, when we first started dating. It's been two months, and maybe living together so soon was the trigger or whatever," she shrugs, her shoulders - clad in a loose grey t-shirt - bouncing up and down, hammering in her point. "But I've realized some things. Including that I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore."

"Just because I read a fucking letter from your friend?" Brody's face is red now; Rachel can feel how irate he is from the other side of the room. "Fine," he finally says angrily, giving up. "Bye, Rachel."

* * *

That night, Rachel cries for what feels like seven hours but is really just one, while her roommates conspire in the kitchen over what's caused her to be so upset. Kurt is oblivious, as usual, wrapped up in his romantic haze; meanwhile Santana broods over her earlier conversation with her usually-perky friend. There's something niggling at the back of her mind, a perfect explanation for the crying fit, but it really just feels like she's channeling her own problems into Rachel. When she brings her a plate of dinner that night, after Kurt has gone out, there's tear stains and mascara marks all over the pillow slip and her friend is a blubbering mess. Finally, Santana chucks her old persona out the window for one night and lays down next to the girl on the bed, rubbing her back while she cries hysterically. It's only after a half hour of this that Rachel, perfect NYADA superstar Rachel, even says a word. Collapsing under Santana's soothing touch, she buries herself face down on the bed. Even though her voice is muffled and hard to hear, she can still make out, "I miss her." And then, of course, Santana understands everything.

* * *

**Hey guys! Thanks so much for the great reviews on the last chapter, means a lot to me :) If you have any questions etc or want to make a suggestion message me on tumblr! My url is the same as on here :) x**


	3. chapter three

**in my veins**

**chapter three**

* * *

Rachel wakes up the next morning feeling hungover, despite not having ingested a single drop of alcohol the night before. She rolls over, only to collide with another body, and she prays to God it's not Brody. Jolted from her peaceful sleep, Santana groans at the contact and groggily lifts herself from her face down position on the bed so that she's sitting cross legged, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Oh, shit," she laughs at her friend's confused expression once she's regained full consciousness. "I guess I fell asleep here, after you did." Rachel immediately breaks into a fit of cackling laughter, loud and abrasive but altogether hilarious to a spectator. The Latina girl's lip quivers at this and suddenly they're giggling together, Santana surprised by the irony of it all. Generally, when she wakes up in girls' beds after a long and tiring night, the context is entirely different. They laugh together for what feels like hours, but is really a few minutes, until finally Rachel quietens and then, stops completely, a saddened look gracing her face.

"Oh my God," Santana tries not to groan, "what's wrong now, Berry?" A sliver of her trademarked, Lima Heights attitude filters into the conversation before she can stop it, but strangely enough, Rachel doesn't seem to mind.

"I honestly don't know," she replies with a frown, chuckling wryly. "Lately all I am is sad, you know?"

Santana nods, feeling empathy for her friend flood her mind and body. "Oh, I know," she grabs her friend around the waist and pulls her in for a hug. "Trust me, I know better than anyone."

They lay like that for close to half an hour, Rachel trying not to cry again and hence leak snot and tears all over her best friend, and Santana pushing distracting thoughts to the back of her mind, 100% percent of them relating to a one Brittany Pierce. For Rachel it's weirdly comforting to be held like this,

* * *

Quinn Fabray steps off the subway ten days after her letter to Rachel arrives, all of her most important possessions stuffed into a suitcase that she rolls behind her as she walks. She tells herself that this is her year, that once she's settled into the new city and the new apartment, everything will start to go right for her. She's no longer Quinn Fabray from Lima, Ohio, the girl who felt so out of place at college that she almost went crazy from regret and loneliness. Now she's confident Quinn; the same rebellious, enigmatic character she was at the beginning of senior year, which coincidentally, is the last time she remembers being happy.

Once she reaches the hard gravel of the sidewalk, the magnificence of New York City stretches out in front of her, like a particularly breathtaking mirage, solace in the middle of a desert. She gasps softly and the small smile on her pale face breaks into an ecstatic grin. This is home, she thinks to herself, the sound of her Doc Martens hitting the pavement music to her ears.

After a few minutes of mindless wandering, too immersed in the high rises and bustle of the city to pay any attention, Quinn hails a cab and directs the driver to the apartment she lined up while she was still at Yale. It's in Brooklyn, and she's gotten off in Manhattan, but the fare is worth being able to speed-sightsee half of her new hometown. She's finally dropped off at the building, and after what seems like an eternity talking to the landlady about rent and deposits and utilities, the blonde steps into the clunky elevator with her luggage and heaves a happy sigh.

The apartment is small; it consists of, essentially, a kitchen, living room and bedroom enclosed by the kind of brown brick walls that symbolise New York living. For now her things are sitting unpacked in a corner, considering that her only furniture - a bed, mattress, sofa and a few odd ends - won't be delivered for, at the earliest, an hour. Her mom reluctantly agreed to loan her some money until she finds a job, so later on she'll go shopping for the basics like dishes and a cheap TV. Meanwhile, the long wait for the movers slowly becoming a reality before her eyes, Quinn sits on the cold floor and pulls her iPad out of her bag. It's the only form of entertainment and social connection she has for now, especially until she can get wireless internet up and running. She tucks a piece of her chin length blonde hair behind her ear and shrugs off her leather jacket, positioning herself up against the base of the built-in countertop to get as comfortable as possible. Immediately, her instinct is to log onto Facebook, and for once she doesn't fight curiosity but instead, runs with it. The first thing, coincidentally, that pops up on her overcrowded newsfeed is a relationship status change. _Rachel Berry is single_. She draws a sharp intake of breath before it really even comes to the forefront of her mind, and suddenly it's like being under the bleachers on that day during senior year when Rachel told her that she liked her for who she was; pink hair, piercings and all. She'd genuinely believed that after that day, she and the beautiful younger girl could take on the entire world. Quinn tugs her cellphone out of the pocket of her shorts, makes sure her battery life is reasonable, and dials the last known number she has for Rachel Berry. After minutes of inane ring after ring, she slams the useless device down onto the hard floorboards and sighs angrily. "Fuck," she whispers, the single syllable resounding loudly in her empty, lonely apartment. It's the only word she can think of to accurately describe the impossible, inevitable state of conscious longing her heart is now in.

* * *

That evening, Rachel sits at the makeshift dining table that she, Kurt and Brody had assembled, her pink-cased MacBook Pro in front of her, her hands hovering anxiously over the keys. Kurt is perched across the room in an armchair, pretending to read Proust but really ogling a shoot for a men's magazine, all the while surreptitiously glancing at his roommate every few seconds, wondering whether she'll actually pluck up the courage to type something. Santana, meanwhile, is locked in her room, watching _Imagine Me & You _with a box of Lucky Charms and a bottle of red wine illegally purchased by "Rosario Cruz".

The young brunette sighs loudly in frustration, indecisively tossing up two opening lines. It's important that she gets this letter right; that it says everything she feels and maybe more, and that most of all, it lives up to Quinn's beautifully articulated message from the other day. It's stressing her out, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed by Kurt, who clears his throat loudly, causing Rachel to spin around nervously.

"Whatcha working on?" he asks curiously, genuinely unsure of whether he wants to hear the answer. One thing he's learned from living with the seemingly conscientious girl is that she doesn't harbor much anxiety over schoolwork, so Kurt immediately rules out 'NYADA paper' as the cause of her exasperation.

Rachel shuts her computer screen over worriedly, even though after an hour of fierce concentration she hasn't penned a single line, and looks at Kurt pointedly. "Nothing," she deflects, aware that this is a flimsy cover-up. Kurt raises an eyebrow, provoking an annoyed fire in Rachel. "How about you go back to pretending to read intelligent literature to hide your porn, okay?" she snaps angrily before striding out of the room and into her bedroom, leaving her friend stunned in her wake.

She flops down dejectedly on her bed, her mood entirely changed once the door is closed and there's no one watching. Rachel is filled with emotions she thinks too stupid to even consider, but despite this, she reopens her laptop and begins to write.

_Quinn,_ she types delicately, unsure of where she's going, but blindly marching onwards anyway.

_Thank you for the letter you sent me. I hope you know how glad I was that you thought to write to me when you decided upon leaving school and coming here to New York. It's a big decision, but I know you'll be the best version of yourself here. We all are, _Rachel writes, before realising the blatant lie she's just told. None of them were their best selves since having come to the city. Kurt was throwing himself into a meaningless relationship based primarily off of sexual attraction, Santana was wallowing in her own self-pity instead of putting herself out there, and she herself? She was the biggest mess of all.

The brunette frowns at the document, head tilted in concentration, and contemplates erasing the last line she's written. It's important that Quinn has an accurate portrayal of life away from Lima, but then again, the last thing that Rachel wants to do is put her off. Chewing on her lip nervously, she decides just to continue writing.

_I hope that you find that New York is the place where you belong. Kurt certainly feels that way - I doubt he'll ever live anywhere else. Here, you can dye your hair pink again and no one will mind. _She smiles at the thought fondly. _Anyway, I guess I should stop babbling and get to the crux of this whole thing. I miss you, Quinn Fabray. I miss you so much that it hurts me in my soul. When I read the last few lines of your letter (before the post script, that is) I literally dropped the piece of paper on the floor. You scared me for a minute, waiting until the last line to tell me you missed me too. When you arrive, whenever you arrive, I want to see you. It's so weird for me, not being able to talk to you most days or call you on the phone - I'm sorry, I lost my old phone so if you've been calling me...well, I'm an idiot. _

_Please text me when you get here. My new number is at the top of the letter, with my address and stuff. We need to talk about a lot of things, all of which you'll understand are super important ;) _

_I miss you (does saying it again make me desperate?),_

_Rachel._

The girl quickly scrolls to the top of the page and begins to proofread her own words, making sure that she's suitably articulated her feelings. After what feels like an eternity of checking and double-checking, she finally settles on a finished draft and quickly inserts Quinn's email address into the line labelled 'to'. She briefly stresses over what to write in the subject line before simply entering, 'from Rachel.' Rachel sits with her laptop resting on her knees, staring at the email, multiple trains of thought colliding in her brain. After a few minutes of hopefully-unnecessary stress, she squeezes her eyes tight shut before pressing 'send.'

"Shit," she breathes from her curled-up position on the bed. There she stays, her computer screen bright and boring into her, for the rest of the night, anticipating Quinn's reply.

* * *

**Hey guys! I hope you all are liking this fic so far. I know it's a bit messy but I'm trying to make things as clear as possible...just let me know if I'm not achieving that. Thanks for the reads, follows and reviews etc. :) Means a lot to me! **


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